


Run the Volcano

by BobLoblawLawBlog



Category: Avatar: Legend of Korra
Genre: F/M, Romance, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-14
Updated: 2014-02-14
Packaged: 2018-01-12 09:10:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1184460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BobLoblawLawBlog/pseuds/BobLoblawLawBlog
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Makorra story for Valentine's Day</p>
            </blockquote>





	Run the Volcano

Mako removed his uniform hat and ran a hand through his hair, his fingertips brushing a crust of dried sweat that had formed on his forehead. He grimaced, suddenly anxious to get home and into a hot shower. The cold air met his skin, tickling the trace of whiskers that had had time to form after three straight days running a case into the ground, catching snatches of sleep on the ratty break room sofa until Bei Fong had uttered the words, “We can handle it. Go home,” her eyebrow cocked high on one side, her voice brooking no objection.

He didn’t feel tired, but that was typical. The exhaustion wouldn’t catch up with him until the adrenaline was out of his system. He’d done stints like this before, working seventeen hour shifts in hopes of buying Bolin a winter coat. But even with the necessity gone, the habits stayed with him—sleeping standing up, catching snatches of rest when it felt safe to do so. It was only when everything felt sort of ok again that he started to collapse in on himself, when the tax on his resources came due in a huge way. 

He shivered a little bit and stoked his inner heat against the chill, stuffing his gloved hands into his pockets and making his brisk way in the direction of home. The route through the park was fastest, and he barely registered the bunting and paper lanterns hanging over its gates as he entered. He was, however, aware that the press of people making their way down the main path was larger than usual. 

“Sorry,” he mumbled when he accidentally bumped into a young man a head shorter than him. But the victim of his clumsiness didn’t even acknowledge him, so wrapped up was he in the girl next to him, whose fingers clutched the back of his trench coat. She had a flower in her hair, and only once Mako saw it did he take a look around and realize that the same flower was painted on the paper lanterns that hung from almost every tree in the park.

“Of course,” he said to himself, realizing now just how badly he’d lost track of time during the fugue state he’d entered a few days ago. The Panda Lily Festival was an Earth Kingdom import, and it had grown in popularity as the myths that surrounded it had spread—about how the Avatar had climbed an erupting volcano to retrieve the rare flower for his One True Love. 

As the crowd walked toward the center of the park, Mako saw the festival’s focal point come into view, a long dirt track that culminated in an enormous papier mache mountain with a torch lighting its peak and a blanket of silk panda lilies covering its sides. As he walked toward the spot where the race would start, he passed men and women selling baskets for half a yuan and vendors hawking fried snacks and cakes in the shapes of flowers and hearts. Feeling the twist of hunger in his stomach, Mako bought a half dozen dumplings and pink and white cupcake before finding a spot on a bench to eat and watch the crowd for a few seconds. 

He and Bolin used to come to this festival every year. First, they did it just because it was an easy place to scam food and pick pockets. Then one year, Bolin had developed a desperate crush on the girl who swept floors at the grocery, and he’d insisted on doing the volcano run for her. Mako had laughed as he’d watched his brother weave through the legs of men in their late teens and twenties, grabbing as many lilies as he could, stuffing them into his pants and shirt because Mako couldn’t afford to buy him a basket. 

Mako settled onto the bench and bit into the first dumpling, catching the juice that dripped down his chin with the back of his hand before licking it clean. He still had the table manners of an orphan, but here it didn’t matter. All around him, young couples were gathered, pulling each other into heated kisses. Men bragged about the number of flowers they would get for their sweethearts. Some women drew themselves up rebelliously and declared their intention to participate, even though traditionally, women didn’t join in. 

The taste of regret mingled with the flavor of the second dumpling as Mako realized he’d never brought anyone here, not even her. They hadn’t made it that far. It was a silly regret to have, he reflected further. Because there was nothing magic about the festival. The lilies didn’t seal your love forever and ever like the myth said it did. Jinora had even told him and Bolin the real story one time, though she’d done it with a starry look in her eye, like the truth was so much more romantic to her than the lie. But there was something about the atmosphere that made everything special, like the words people said to one another under the light of the paper lanterns with baskets full of false flowers in their arms really could last for eternity. 

He bit into the fourth dumpling, and a man with a bullhorn announced the start of the volcano run. People hustled and jostled each other to get to the starting line, contending for spots near the front. A few people standing near him looked at him and pointed in the direction of the crowd, as if he simply hadn’t been paying attention. Mako waved them off, holding up the food that still filled his hands, and they shrugged before jogging off toward the start. 

As they did so, there was a break in the swarm, and his view of the festival grounds opened up just enough for him to see a figure in blue standing on the opposite side. It was unmistakably her. She was hanging back from the multitude, clearly just trying to observe without drawing attention to herself, but he could spot her from three miles away in dense fog. His stomach clenched a little bit, and he wondered if he should go try to talk to her. They’d talked plenty of times since their break-up, and she appeared to be alone. But before he could make up his mind, someone in the crowd yelled, “Hey, it’s the Avatar!”

People turned their heads to look, and Mako could see her posture stiffen. “It’s the Avatar!” someone else hollered. “Over there!” Excited tittering swept over the park, and then someone shouted with a deep, throaty voice, “Come join the run, Avatar!” 

The crowd responded well to that suggestion, and cries of “Join in! Run the volcano!” met the first one until finally the guy with the bullhorn got in on the action. “Will Avatar Korra brave the treacherous slopes of the volcano just as she did in a past life? Surely there is some lucky man out there worthy of such heroism!”

Mako smiled a little but also shifted in his seat, as anxious, apparently, to see what she would do as the rest of the crowd was. She remained rooted to her spot until chants of “Kor-ra! Kor-ra! Kor-ra!” began. Somehow, he could tell she was smiling just by her posture, which had lost its stiff defensiveness. Then he saw her bow at the waist and jog toward the cluster, where she was maneuvered to the front, her right boot edged up behind the starting line as she got into a runner’s stance. And then a basket was shoved into her hands. When she accepted it, her gaze was suddenly directed toward where he was sitting. She was closer to him now, her features in focus, and he could see her grin and wink of recognition as she once again lunged low to the ground, preparing for the sprint.

The man on the bullhorn told all the runners to get ready. And as he began the countdown, anticipatory silence fell over the spectators. Then the whistle blew, and the mob lurched forward, the runners at the front leaping into motion as some behind them tried to push them out of the way and claim a spot in the lead. There was a lot of bumping and jostling, and more than a few people wound up face down in the dirt, other runners swerving to avoid them. But way in the front, Korra was a streak of blue, out of reach, her hair streaking behind her like the tail of a comet. 

He lost sight of her as the crowd passed by and the slower runners obscured his view. In spite of himself, he stood up on the bench to get a better look. A cheer went up closer to the “volcano,” and he could see her far away, scrambling to the top, gathering armfuls of flowers as the other participants struggled to keep up. The crowd of spectators near the starting line started to move toward the finish, and he found himself being swept along with them. 

There was more cheering and chanting, and the guy with the bullhorn asked who would be the recipient of Avatar Korra’s lilies. She held her brimming basket over her head, and Mako laughed. She always was a showoff. And then he saw her swing it back and launch its contents toward the crowd. A gust of air from her fingertips followed it, and the silk flowers scattered and came cascading down over their heads, gathered up by men, women, and children all around him. Republic City is my One True Love, the gesture seemed to say.

He applauded along with everyone else, his heart full of pride and, if he was honest with himself, love. And then her head disappeared as she came back down to their level, and he found himself standing on tiptoes still trying to track her movement. Within seconds, he lost it. Damn her for being so short. He veered his head left and right, still trying to catch a hint of her wolf tail bobbing among the other heads. 

“Whatcha lookin for?” a voice said. And he looked down to see her right in front of him, a smile splitting her face. 

“Hey,” he said sheepishly, a blush creeping up his neck. “I was cutting through the park on my way home. I forgot that this was today…” He felt stupid trying to make excuses. Why should he be embarrassed for being here?

“Yeah, well, me too,” she said, interrupting him. And then he saw her reach for something that was tucked into her waistband and hand it to him. It was a silk panda lily. “I saw you sitting over there by yourself, and you looked like shit,” she said. “I figured you could use one of these for luck.”

“That’s not what they’re for,” he responded, his throat feeling a little tight for some reason. 

She just shrugged, her arms crossing over her waist. “Whatever. I just thought you’d like the gesture.”

He twirled the false stem idly between his thumb and forefinger, looking down to see the pointed white petals flare as they rotated. “Thanks,” he said, meeting her eyes, hoping she took his gratitude as sincerely as it was intended.

“I’ll walk you home?” she said. 

“You don’t have better things to do tonight?”

“Apparently not.”

He felt that he was exceptionally low on charm in that moment, and extended an elbow to try and indicate that her offer was welcome, that he could, in fact, use a little company on the journey. She took it, and he felt the gentle, warm weight of her hand settle against his forearm. He was suddenly self-conscious about how he smelled, but then again, she’d seen him sweat-stained and musky with hard work enough times for it to all to be routine. 

They set off in the direction of his apartment, but they barely made it to the gate before a camera flashed in their faces, and white spots shattered his vision. “So the Avatar does have a True Love for the festival,” the photographer said. 

“We’re not together,” she declared, waving him off as she dragged him toward the park exit. 

“Sorry,” Mako said, not quite sure why he was apologizing. 

“Not your fault,” she said, her voice casual. “And not a big deal.” 

“You’re supposed to go to this thing with someone you’re dating,” he said, figuring it was her first time. 

“So, I gathered.”

They made it out of the park and were rounding a corner that took them to the long street that ran all the way to his apartment. It was quieter there, less crowded. A gust of wind coming up from the bay cut straight through their bodies, and she clung a little bit tighter to him for warmth. He wrestled with himself, afraid to speak his next thought, but the words burned against the back of his throat. “I was thinking earlier that I didn’t get to bring you, that we didn’t make it this far.”

She stopped in her tracks, and he was forced to turn toward her face, where he appraised the furrows in her brow. “Why?” she asked. “It’s just a stupid festival. We went to one together before.”

He felt childish, like she was suddenly a foot taller than him. “It’s supposed to be a day for telling people how much you love them,” he blurted out, aware that “people” was a kind of euphemism in this case.

“You think I don’t know that you loved me?”

His breath was getting shallow, his words strangled. It was half exhaustion and half the feeling that he might burst into tears. “I do a pretty shitty job of it sometimes,” he said. 

He had few resources left for maintaining his stoic reserve, and his vision started to fog, moisture betraying him in this crucial moment. So he couldn’t quite see her as she leaned in. All he felt was the soft brush of her lips on his. It was a fleeting, transitory sensation. “I know,” she whispered. 

It was an instinct rather than a thought that prompted him to cup the back of her head with his hand and pull her back against his mouth, his mind clear of everything but her body heat and the saltiness of her tongue. 

“I still love you,” he breathed against her cheek, and he felt her nuzzle against him, rubbing her soft skin against his stubble just like she used to. His confession clung to the air, and he felt himself begin to fall apart in her silence. 

“We said always, didn’t we?” she finally answered. “Please believe that I meant it.”

He believed her. He covered her mouth with his again and felt the pull of her strong fists against his clothing. And he savored every brush of her tongue over the ridges of his teeth, every sigh that escaped her body. Every second was a gift. Because he didn’t know what the next would bring. Perhaps he would leave her standing outside his home with kiss on the cheek and the quiet understanding that this was not a beginning but only a waypoint on their uncertain journey together. Or perhaps she would push her way back inside, back into his life, and she would strip him bare and wreck him like only she knew how. 

And perhaps he would find the rest he looked for in her skin, the softness of her breasts, the satisfaction of being inside her. And maybe she would stay with him while he slept. And maybe she’d be gone in the morning. Or maybe she would never leave his side again. Some secret part of him hoped. 

His arms crushed her closer to him, and the silk panda lily in his pocket crumpled between them, a sign—not a guarantee—that her lips were honest even if they couldn’t be prophetic, that they could say always and mean it. And only time could prove them wise or foolish in doing so.


End file.
